


The Five Times Credence Apparated + The One Time it Backfired

by becameapasttime (mitslits)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 5 + 1 Fic, Awkwardness, GRADENCE - Freeform, Gravebone, M/M, with fluffy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9123832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/becameapasttime
Summary: Look, learning magic is tough and mistakes are going to happen. Credence just happens to make some particularly awkward ones. Graves has to deal with the aftermath.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to sarkany for beta'ing~

**First**

 

Credence closes his eyes and takes in a deep, steadying breath, narrowing his focus to the wand in his hand. It’s only too easy to focus on something--or rather, someone--else with Graves’ chest pressed to his back, the solid line of his arm against Credence’s, his fingers curled around his own, but Credence has to concentrate. His magic isn’t going to work otherwise. 

 

“Your magic is a part of you,” Graves says, voice low and soft in Credence’s ear. “I know you’re used to it, but don’t fight it. Just picture where you want to go, and let it happen.” 

 

Suppressing a shudder at the hot breath on his neck, Credence tries to do as Graves tells him. He reaches for the magic that’s always lurked within him. It’s no longer the twisted, tangled mess he’s grown used to, but something clearer, almost pure. It at least  _ feels _ kinder than it used to. 

 

Hesitantly, Credence draws it out, allowing it to flow through his body into the wand. He can feel it building in intensity, pushing at the tip of the wand, begging to be used. Credence squeezes his eyes shut and releases it. 

 

There’s a rush of air, the brief sensation of being nothing, before Credence snaps back together, slightly sick to his stomach. 

 

Graves’ hand lands on his shoulder, steadying him, helping him keep his feet. “Where… where are we?” Credence asks when he’s collected himself a little more. 

 

Graves looks around, a shadow of confusion passing over his face when he realizes where they’ve ended up. “We appear to be in my office.” 

 

_ Oh. _ Credence flushes, turning his face away from Graves to hide it. 

 

This office was the first place Credence had ever met Graves, the real Graves, and his subconscious must have decided it was the safest place to take them. He’d been concentrating so hard on actually making his magic work that he’d given barely any thought to where he actually wanted to go. 

 

“Credence,” Graves says, and Credence turns towards him, half expecting to be scolded for intruding where he doesn’t belong. Instead, Graves gives him a small, unexpected smile. “I’m proud of you.” 

 

Credence doesn’t get the opportunity to hide his blush that time. 

 

**Second**

 

Credence pulls his coat a little tighter around him in a futile attempt to ward off the cold. He hadn’t  _ meant  _ to get lost, but he still wasn’t used to this part of town. The house he shared with Graves was in a much higher-end part of town than he’d lived in with Mary Lou. 

 

Shivering, Credence looks at the streets around him, recognizing none of it. This is what he gets for going out on his own. His fingers close around the small package in his pocket, and he bites his bottom lip. Hopefully this will all have been worth it. 

 

After ten or fifteen more minutes of wandering around, Credence determines he’s probably not going to just happen upon the route home. He slides his wand out of his sleeve and looks at it uncertainly.

 

Apparation certainly would be useful in this case, but he hasn’t tried it since that first time with Graves, and he’s not sure he can do it on his own. A sudden gust of freezing wind convinces him to at least  _ try.  _

 

Credence blows on his hands to warm them up a little, but his fingers still border on numb. He closes his eyes to concentrate better, conjuring up an image of home, of warmth. With a silent plea for help to he-doesn’t-even-know-who, Credence raises his wand and flicks his wrist. 

 

The semi-familiar feeling of being sucked into nothingness, rearranged, and spat back out takes over.

 

Credence tumbles back into existence. His magic has taken him someplace very warm indeed and… wet? His eyes fly open at the sound of a startled shout, disoriented. 

 

It takes a second for him to piece together what’s happened. True to desire, Credence has landed someplace warm. That place just happens to be Graves’ bathtub. Which Graves is currently occupying. 

 

“ _ Credence? _ ” Graves asks, sounding incredibly baffled. 

 

Instantly Credence is moving, struggling to haul himself out of the water with his sodden clothes. His face is flaming red and he stutters out half-formed apologies left and right. “I-I didn’t mean to, I am  _ so _ sorry, Mr. Graves-”

 

Credence finally looks at Graves only to see him tug his knees up to his chest so quickly that water sloshes over the side of the tub. 

 

“Credence,” Graves says tightly. “Get  _ out _ , please.”

 

Credence hurries out, heart pounding rapidly in his chest.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid, how could you have done that? He’s going to throw you out now. He’s going to hurt you and throw you out. _

 

Credence sinks to his knees near the couch. A moment later he clutches at the armrest to try and haul himself up. He doesn’t want to leave. He likes it here. It’s safe, and warm, and sometimes he doesn’t even dream about Mary Lou or the darkness that used to live inside him. Now he’s gone and thrown all that away. 

 

There’s the quiet sound of footsteps behind Credence, and he tenses involuntarily, ready to feel hands on him. Instead all he hears is, “What happened?”

 

Credence swallows thickly, picking himself up and turning to face Graves, but unable to look him in the eyes. He stares down at his shoes, only then realizing that he’s dripping, has trailed water through the hallway. “I’ll clean that up,” he whispers.

 

Graves just shakes his head. “It’s water, it will dry on its own. Do you want to tell me how you came to be in my bathtub?” 

 

Chewing at his bottom lip, Credence nods once, slowly. “I… I was practicing that thing you taught me,” he finally says. “Apparate. I didn’t mean to end up in your tub.” The last words are little more than a whisper, and Graves has to lean forward to hear them. 

 

Silence settles over them for a brief moment. Graves breaks it.

 

“You were picturing the bathtub when you cast the spell?” He sounds genuinely confused, but there’s no trace of anger or disappointment in his tone.

 

“No,” Credence says, shaking his head. “I, um. I was picturing warmth,” he confesses. 

 

Graves chuckles lightly, and Credence’s head whips up, barely able to believe it. He’s  _ laughing _ ?

 

When Graves notices Credence staring at him, he sobers up, shaking his head. “Something like this was bound to happen eventually,” he says.

 

Credence blinks, not sure he’s understood him. “It was?” 

 

Graves raises his eyebrows a bit. “Of course. You’re older than most wizards who would be learning this spell, but you’re still very new to this. Everyone makes mistakes when they’re learning, some more spectacular than others.”

 

Credence still looks a bit uncertain, and Graves continues, folding his arms over his chest.

 

“When I was first learning how to apparate, I got my head stuck between a couple of stair railings. It took half the fire department to get me out,” Graves says dryly. 

 

Credence peers up at him through his eyelashes, trying to picture such a thing in his head. “Really?” he asks, after trying and failing to do so.

 

Graves rubs the back of his neck as if he can still feel the railings pressing in on either side. “I promise. To tell you the truth, I was a terrible student. Always trying spells before I was ready for them.” Sighing, he shakes his head, seeming to come back to the present. “Anyway. You should change out of those clothes. And I have a bath to get back to.”

 

With that, Graves turns and heads back into the bathroom. He doesn’t catch the small smile Credence directs towards the floor. 

 

**Third**

 

Much to Credence’s relief, he package Credence had stowed in his pocket hadn’t fared any worse for its brief trip in the tub. The holidays are fast approaching, and he doesn’t know if he’d have had time to have another set made. 

 

It is Christmas just two days later, and Credence puts the rough plan he’s come up with into motion. 

 

Graves leaves early in the morning as he always does, moving quietly so as not to wake Credence. Little does he know, Credence is already awake, listening intently. The second the door closes behind Graves, Credence is out of his bed and reaching for his wand.

 

Credence pictures Graves’ office in his mind’s eye, determined to get the spell right this time. One hand curled around the package, the other around his wand, Credence apparates. 

 

He appears unharmed and intact right in the center of Graves’ office, just as he intended. He doesn’t have time to celebrate, given he isn’t sure how long it will take Graves himself to get here. Credence hurries over to the desk that dominates the back half of the room, setting the small, twine-wrapped box on the edge of the desk. He casts about for pencil and paper, but the closest thing he finds is a quill and parchment. 

 

_ Wizards. _

 

Tongue poking out in concentration--it’s been a while since Credence has actually written anything, and never with a quill and ink--he pens a quick, simple note. 

 

_ Mr. Graves, _

_ I know this can’t begin to make up for all you’ve done for me, but I’ll hope you’ll like it despite that. _

_ Credence _

 

The sound of a key turning in the lock startles Credence, and he jumps slightly, knocking the package off the desk. Eyes wide, he scrambles to pick it up and stow the writing materials before anyone enters. 

 

Too late. His fingers have just closed around the small box when he hears the door open behind him. 

 

Graves clears his throat, and Credence straightens too quickly, bumping his head against the edge of the desk. He rubs at the spot sheepishly, clutching the box, suddenly nervous. He hadn’t expected to be here when Graves received it. 

 

“Mr. Graves,” Credence mumbles, briefly meeting his eyes before dropping them to the floor. 

 

“Credence,” Graves says, sounding slightly amused. “Practicing apparation again?” he guesses. 

 

Credence’s mouth edges up into a smile. “No, sir, I meant to come here.”

 

Graves looks a bit taken aback at that. He sets his briefcase down, striding forwards purposefully. “Are you alright? Has something happened?” he asks, placing one finger under Credence’s chin and gently lifting it. He peers intently into Credence’s eyes, searching for anything out of place. 

 

Credence gives a tiny shake of his head, the best he can do when Graves is still holding him. “I’m fine,” he assures him, voice soft. “I just…” He holds the package up between them. “Merry Christmas?”

 

If Graves had seemed shocked before, he seems even more so now. He blinks owlishly down at the package, not even remembering to let go of Credence’s chin until Credence pushes the box towards him. 

 

Graves takes it, stepping back a bit before glancing up at Credence. “You didn’t have to do this,” he says. 

 

Credence hunches in on himself slightly, a nervous parody of a shrug. “I wanted to,” he whispers. 

 

“Well. It was very thoughtful of you,” Graves says, finally starting to pick at the twine. He unknots it and tears away the rest of the packaging, letting it fall unheeded to the floor. 

 

Credence watches him closely, brows knitting together. He hadn’t known exactly what to get Graves for the longest time, but the idea had struck him the other day and he’d acted upon it before he could stop himself.

 

Graves stares down at the pair of silver cufflinks inscribed with his initials and is, for once, speechless.

 

The longer the silence grows, the more uncertain Credence becomes. He’s never really done Christmas before, but surely Graves should have said something by now? Just as he opens his mouth to ask what he thinks of them, Graves speaks. 

 

“Would you be willing to help me put these on?” Graves asks, and Credence’s heart thrills in his chest.

 

Surely Graves would only want to wear them if he liked them? 

 

Credence closes the scant distance between them, holding the new cufflinks as Graves removes the older, tarnished ones. Delicately, Credence threads them into the suit, fingertips brushing against Graves’ skin once or twice.

 

Neither of them mention it, but something changes between them, tension sparking in the air.

 

Credence sighs slightly as he finishes and backs away. He’s not sure if it’s one of relief or disappointment. “I should probably be going now,” he says, back to his usual shyness. “That’s all I came here for.”

 

Graves nods, running one thumb over the opposite cufflink. “Before you go,” he says, just as Credence readied his wand. 

 

Stopping mid-motion, Credence glances over at him.

 

“I just wanted to say…” Graves starts, and Credence doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man so unsure of himself. “Thank you.”

 

Credence smiles, a real, genuine smile and then, with a stroke of his wand, he’s gone. 

 

Graves is left blinking at empty space, but something on his desk catches his eye. He can’t remember leaving his writing supplies out like that.

 

Walking closer, he sees Credence’s letter lying on the desk, abandoned. He picks it up, reads through it, and slips it into his pocket. 

 

**Fourth**

 

_ Turns to one side. _

 

Credence is trapped in a narrow, dark alleyway. There’s snow on the ground, but he doesn’t feel the cold. 

 

_ Tosses to the other.  _

 

At one end of the alley stands Mr. Graves, looking sterner and more unforgiving than Credence has ever seen him before. At the other end, Grindelwald blinks at him. Graves’ face is pasted over his, twisted into something cruel and misshapen. It looks sloppy, as if the skin doesn’t quite fit. 

 

_ Fingers grasp at sheets.  _

 

Credence looks first from one to the other, unable to move. He urges himself to get out of there, to run, but nothing happens. 

 

Grindelwald raises one crooked finger and points it at Graves. “Kill the imposter.”

 

_ Lips part in a silent cry. _

 

Credence fights against it with every ounce of his being, but it’s out of his control. He can feel the Obscurus rising within him, ravenous after its long imprisonment. He turns to Graves, and before he can say anything, it rips Credence apart. 

 

Raw, dangerous power consumes Credence, all of it focused on Graves. He slams into Graves’ body with all the force of his hatred. 

 

Graves doesn’t stand a chance. 

 

Credence surges upwards in his bed, forehead beaded with sweat. He pulls in gasping breaths with heaving chest and burning lungs, the last vestiges of his dream refusing to leave. He can remember exactly how it felt to take a person’s life. 

 

There was something intoxicating about it. 

 

Credence stares at his shaking hands in horror. He hasn’t, has he? He can’t have. It was nightmare, not memory. 

 

Before he can talk himself out of it, Credence snatches up his wand, shivering so much that he nearly drops it. All he pictures in his head is Graves. Then he apparates. 

 

Credence doesn’t have far to go. He finds himself tangled up in a second pair of sheets and panics trying to free himself. 

 

Instantly Graves is awake and alert, snatching his wand from his bedside table and whirling to aim at the intruder. 

 

Credence looks up with wide, terrified eyes, still ensnared in Graves’ sheets. He’s at the wrong end of the wand, yes, but he can’t help the surge of relief that washes through him. Graves is unquestionably alive. 

 

“Credence,” Graves sighs when he realizes who it is. He lowers his wand, scrubbing a hand over his face. “We have to stop meeting like this.” 

 

That’s when Graves really seems to see him, sweat-tousled hair clinging to his forehead, panting, and still staring at Graves with wide eyes as if he can’t get enough of him. 

 

Graves’ brow furrows, and he sets his wand back where it belongs. “What’s wrong?”

 

Credence stares at his hands instead of Graves, pulls the sheets just a bit tighter around him. “I dreamt I killed you,” he says, voice small and quiet. “It… It felt so  _ real _ , I… I had to-” He breaks himself off. Graves is going to be angry enough with him without knowing he thought he actually might have done it. 

 

But instead of yelling or ordering him out, Graves just gets back into the bed with Credence. Even more surprising, he reaches out and wraps his fingers around Credence’s wrist. 

 

Reflexively, Credence resists, but when Graves tugs again, gentle and insistent, he allows his hand to be guided forward until it’s resting on Graves’ bare chest, right over his heart. 

 

“Do you feel that?” Graves asks quietly. “Beating. I’m alive as I’ve ever been.”

 

Credence goes completely still, focusing on the heartbeat under his palm. He closes his eyes, letting the rhythm flow through him. After a minute or two he leans forward, resting his head in the crook of Graves’ neck. His hand stays where it is. 

 

He can feel a jolt of surprise run through Graves at the motion, but he doesn’t push Credence away. Graves just wraps his arm around him and trails his fingers lightly down his back. 

 

Credence hums quietly, settling in. He matches his breathing to the steady pace of Graves’ own, and soon he’s drifting back to sleep again.

 

This time, wrapped in Graves’ heat and warmth, Credence doesn’t dream. 

 

**Fifth**

 

After Credence’s nightmare, it becomes an unspoken agreement that they’ll continue to sleep together. Graves’ nights are mostly undisturbed after this. Mostly.

 

Graves wakes one night to Credence shifting in his arms, the length of his body pressed solidly along Graves’. 

 

“Percival,” Credence whispers, and Graves stills. 

 

Credence has never addressed him by his first name before. “Yes?” he murmurs, already half asleep again. 

 

There’s no answer. Graves lifts his head, just as Credence moves again, hips shifting forward, pressing against Graves’ upper thigh. Credence himself appears to be asleep, but one part of him is very much awake. A soft moan edges past Credence’s lips, making it clear what kind of dream he’s caught up in this time. Certainly not a nightmare.  

 

Graves’ head falls back to the pillow, alert now. That was his name. Credence had unmistakably whispered ‘Percival’. He supposed it was  _ possible  _ that Credence knew another Percival, but if he did, he’d never mentioned him. 

 

Graves is loathe to wake him up. He wants to hear another one of those pretty moans, feel Credence’s hips roll against him. Something about it feels wrong, however, like he’s sneaking a peek at something he knows he’s not meant to be looking at.

 

“Credence,” Graves says at a normal volume, clearing his throat. “Wake up.”

 

Credence’s eyes flutter open a second later and he freezes. He’s pressed right against Graves and given what he was just dreaming about… 

 

Credence is up and moving before Graves has a chance to say anything. He snatches his wand off the bedside table he’s started to keep it on and disappears. The only thought in his head is  _ away _ . 

 

Away, as it turns out, is the abandoned home of the Second Salemers. 

 

Credence appears in the bedroom that used to be his. He curls up in one corner with his arms wrapped around his legs, a familiar position. 

 

It isn’t the first time he’s dreamed about men like this. Mary Lou had made it clear that desire for one’s own sex was a sin, not tolerated under any circumstances. The world echoed her sentiment. He’d heard whispers about raids on secret clubs and bars fostering promiscuity, the arrests that followed, and their treatment in jail. It was  _ wrong wrong wrong _ . 

 

And Graves had to have known. 

 

Credence buries his head in his arms and feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Graves might have been able to forgive him for everything else, but this… He’s not going to stop feeling like this, even if Graves hates him. 

 

Time passes. Credence doesn’t know how much, could be minutes, could be hours, could be longer, but eventually he hears somebody walk into the room and stop. He hopes and feels in equal parts that it’s Graves. 

 

“Here, of all places,” Graves says, and Credence forces himself to look up. He finds Graves looking around the room with a disapproving frown. 

 

Credence flinches. He tries to draw further into himself, but there isn’t much smaller he can get. “I’m sorry,” he whispers in a voice too small for Graves to actually hear. 

 

Graves walks a bit closer to him, stopping and kneeling in front of him. “Why did you run away?” he asks quietly. 

 

Credence traps his bottom lip between his teeth and bites into it instead of answering. He can’t bring himself to look at anything but Graves’ shoes, tears still threatening to fall. 

 

Graves moves to sit beside him, letting his head fall back against the wall. “Never mind that question,” he says after a moment. “I suspect I can guess the answer. Credence. Please look at me.” 

 

It takes a bit to gather the courage, but Credence eventually raises his eyes. They settle somewhere around Graves’ chin, inching ever so slowly to his eyes. They’re much softer than he expects, and it helps ease the tension in his chest a little. 

 

Graves hasn’t cast him out yet. Maybe he won’t this time either. Maybe he’ll just ask that Credence go back to his own bed. He can handle that, he thinks. 

 

Graves levels Credence with a serious look. “You said my name,” he says. “Didn’t you?” 

 

Credence opens his mouth to apologize, say it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t really mean it, beg him not to hate him. Instead, he breathes, “Yes,” longing for something he can’t put a name to. Then Graves’ hand is on his cheek, gentle, and Credence leans into his touch. “Please,” he whispers. He’s asking for a calm in the swirling storm of emotions, freedom from the uncertainty flooding through him. 

 

Whatever he’s trying to say, Graves seems to hear it. He leans in, closing the gap between them, and press his lips to Credence’s. 

 

The kiss is soft, undemanding, and everything Credence hadn’t known he wanted. He curls his hand in the lapels of Graves’ jacket to keep him close when they break apart. He doesn’t think he could stand it if he pulled away. 

 

Graves doesn’t seem to have any inclination to. He rests his forehead against Credence’s, hand still splayed over his cheek. 

 

“Percival,” Credence says, voice small and uncertain. “Do you think you could do that again?” 

 

Kiss by kiss, touch by touch, Graves settles the storm within Credence, banishing the clouds, and coaxing out the sun for the first time in a long time. 

 

**Plus One**

Credence slips out of his jacket, starts on the buttons of his shirt. 

 

The many times Graves has complained about the mundanity of office life runs through his head as he reaches the last one. He sets the shirt aside as well, then moves onto his belt. Within seconds, his pants lie in a heap on the floor, underwear soon following them. 

 

Shivering slightly in the chill air--the holidays having come around again--Credence picks up his wand. The cufflinks flash through his mind and Credence almost smiles. Graves is going to be getting a very different present this year. 

 

Credence pictures Graves’ office, more specifically his desk. With a whisk of the wand, he’s off. 

 

Practice does indeed make perfect. Credence appears precisely where he means to, stretched out across Graves’ desk without a thing on. 

 

Graves seems entirely taken aback by his sudden apparition, just as Credence had hoped for. 

 

Unfortunately, so the do the five other Aurors in Graves office. 

 

Instantly Credence goes red, coloring from the tips of his ears all the way down his chest. He’s struck dumb with fear, wand dropping from nerveless fingers. His brain is screaming at him to get out of there, disappear, but he can’t make his body move. 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Graves says, standing abruptly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this meeting short. Something’s come up.” He holds his hand out to Credence. 

 

Credence forces himself not to look at the other Aurors, keeping his focus entirely on Graves. He slips his hand into his, climbing off the desk, and standing motionless in front of him. 

 

Graves takes his jacket off the back of his chair, draping it around Credence’s shoulders and hiding him from view. He wraps his arms around Credence, giving the Aurors a stern look. ‘Not a word’ he mouths at them. Then he flicks his wand, and both of them disappear from the office. 

 

They return to their bedroom at home, Credence clutching the jacket tightly around him, still flaming red. 

 

“Mr. Graves, I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, I didn’t know you were in a meeting, I should never have-” His stream of babble is cut off by the finger Graves presses against his lips. 

 

“Credence,” he says quietly, and Credence can’t read anything from his tone. “You have just saved me from the most horrendously dull meeting I’ve ever had to sit through. I feel like I should thank you.” 

 

Credence’s breath hitches slightly in his chest. “Thank me?” he asks softly. 

 

Graves admires him with dark eyes. He sets his hands on his shoulders and slides off the coat, leaving it with the rest of Credence’s castoffs on the floor. “Yes,” he says, voice filled with promise. His hands smooth down Credence’s arms, until they settle on his hips. Graves tugs him forwards, skims his teeth up his jaw to his ear. 

  
“Let me show you just how grateful I am.” 


End file.
